


Promises broken, promises kept

by czennie127



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bullying, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, Foreign Swaggers (NCT), Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, M/M, Racist Language, don't wanna trigger or bother anyone, it's not as heavy as it sounds lol but i wanted to tag everything just in case, johnny centric, music producer!johnny, rockstar!yuta, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/czennie127/pseuds/czennie127
Summary: They’re not friends, but Johnny is always all too aware of him. Yuta is extremely charismatic on stage – but it’s not just that. Off stage he’s friendlier, but there’s still an edge to him; Johnny has yet to figure out if it’s the kind that will cut you if you get too close.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nakamoto Yuta/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 25
Kudos: 144





	Promises broken, promises kept

“You’re distracted.”

Johnny whips his head back and grimaces. He takes a bite out of his sandwich. 

“Sorry.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. 

“I was asking if you’re gonna be at basketball practice later. I know your parents have been on your ass about your grades.”

Johnny scoffs. “I’ll be there. Study date tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

Jaehyun says something after that, but Johnny’s attention is elsewhere, again. He can see the kid smile nervously, avert his eyes as he adjusts the thick glasses on his nose. It hasn’t even been a week since Mark Lee transferred into their school, but he’s had a target on his back from the very beginning: his Korean is choppy at most, he’s scrawny and wears an awful lot of pink. 

Johnny watches as Kiwoo leans down and whispers something to him, then flicks the side of his face with a finger. It’s not playful – it’s demeaning. Mark tries to laugh it off. He looks like he wants to scream. 

“Johnny – “ 

He remembers how he felt when he first moved to Seoul. He’s heard Mark is from somewhere in Canada, and he’s almost stereotypically polite, always bowing his head to teachers, never talking back. He hasn’t made a single friend in his first week of school and, by the look of things, that’s unlikely to change. Johnny has heard the names people call him in the corridors and locker rooms. The thing is, Mark could make life much easier for himself if he wanted to. He’s nerdy, but cute, and has a bright and friendly smile; if he only toned it down, he could fit in. But – it’s odd. He’s scared to talk back yet doesn’t dye his hair black to look average, he doesn’t take off the lace choker hidden behind the collar of his uniform (the school would never allow it, but Mark Lee is a contradiction if Johnny’s ever seen one.)

Johnny is walking over to his table before he knows it. He slaps a hand on Kiwoo’s back. It could be friendly. It’s not, and Kiwoo is startled when he looks up at him.

“Hey, Youngho, what’s up?” 

“What are you doing over here, man?” he asks, his hands slipping into his pockets, using his full height to look down on the other boy. They’ve never been enemies. Johnny plays basketball, Kiwoo is on the swim team. They have tons of acquaintances in common, even a few friends. 

And, unlike Mark Lee, Johnny – _Youngho_ , he reminds himself – is the master of fitting in. He’s on the team, but not the captain. His grades aren’t too bad, if you don’t count that one last math test. He’s tall, but it’s not weird since he’s a basketball player, and he’s handsome enough that he’s dated a couple of girls during the last school year – but never the dangerously beautiful ones, never the ones who look like they could break your heart with just a glance. Johnny is one amongst thousands. He likes blending in. He has no choice but to. 

Except. 

“We were just joking around,” says Kiwoo carefully, trying to assess the situation. “It’s all good here. _Mark is my friend_ ,” he adds then, in heavily accented English, and there’s sheer mockery in his tone. 

Johnny’s eyes meet Mark’s. He holds his gaze for a second then drops it. 

He lets it go. It’s none of his business. He has basketball to think about, has the next test to study for, he has a whole normal average life waiting for him with open arms. Johnny is not as brave as Mark Lee. So he nods, steps back, sits down at his table in front of Jaehyun. His best friend looks at him quizzically.

“You feel bad for that Lee kid, don’t you? The American one.”

“He’s Canadian. And I don’t.”

Jaehyun smiles knowingly at that. 

“Sure thing.”

Johnny is content to be a coward. He knows he has too much at stake, and standing out is too big of a risk. 

Except. Mark Lee. 

He’s there again, after school, in the backyard where Johnny goes to smoke and where Jaehyun just tags along, stealing a drag of his cigarette from time to time. They both look over at the small group of people – Kiwoo, two of his friends and, of course, Mark Lee. 

“They’re just talking,” says Johnny, almost to himself. Kiwoo grabs Mark by the collar, then rips his pretty lace choker in two with his hands and shoves Mark against the brick wall. Mark hits it hard, backpack first, still trying to stand his ground. His eyes are glassy, but he’s not even close to crying. 

Johnny doesn’t like to stand out. 

But.

“Hey!” he yells over the courtyard, taking a few steps. Jaehyun doesn’t try to stop him, just tenses in his spot, ready to act if anything were to happen. Kiwoo turns to look at Johnny. “Why don’t you quit it and get the fuck home?”

“What, are you defending the little girl?” sneers Kiwoo. Johnny closes his eyes for a second. They always call Mark that. He hates it. “Have you made him your bitch, Seo?”

Johnny has only been in one fight in his life, and it was over someone badmouthing Jaehyun’s sister while she wasn’t there to defend herself. So he really doesn’t know what gets into him when he grabs Kiwoo by the throat and shoves him against the wall, much like he did to Mark before – only harder. Even meaner.

“Wanna get on my bad side, Ahn?” He switches to his last name too, eyes going cold. “Because I have a suggestion: you’d better fucking not.”

Kiwoo knows better than to start something with Johnny, especially when Jaehyun is there to back him up. The two should be outnumbered, but Kiwoo is a bully, not blind. He sees the wild look in Johnny’s eyes.

“Have it your way, _oekuk-saram_. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It stings, even though it shouldn’t. And, even though he shouldn’t, even though he _never_ speaks English at school because he doesn’t want to remind everyone that he isn’t one of them, doesn’t want to remind _himself_ that he isn’t, remember the way people used to make fun of his Korean in middle school, laughing at him when Johnny pretended not to hear. That’s when he started introducing himself as Youngho. But, even though he shouldn’t, Johnny lets go of Kiwoo and, looking straight at Mark, making sure everyone can hear him, he says: “Come here, Lee,” in English. 

When they’re left alone, just the three of them, Mark looks at him with a smile that shouldn’t belong on the face of someone who almost just got beaten up. There’s no fear in that smile. Johnny doesn’t get it. 

“Do you guys wanna study together?” he asks, half in English and half in Korean.

Behind Johnny, Jaehyun smiles and leans against the wall.

“Why not,” he grins, and extends an arm. A bit puzzled, Mark gives him a high-five.

So they study together. And the next morning Johnny finds a bunch of racial slurs written over his locker and then, on the bottom, in bright red ink: _faggot bitch._

This time he does get into a fight. 

He stands out, and Mark Lee is to blame.

But.

They make it through high school together. There’s a few more scuffles between Johnny and Kiwoo before they come to an understanding of sorts, because neither of them wants to get expelled, and suddenly Johnny and his friends stop flying under the radar. They never become outcasts, Jaehyun still scoring too many points for the school’s team for that to happen, but somehow people are always friendly to them but never try to become their friends. It should bother Johnny. It doesn’t. He stops introducing himself as Youngho.

  


* * *

  


The night after graduation they’re all sprawled over the hood of Jaehyun’s car, giggly and drunk, Mark now taller but just as lanky, the light in his eyes shining much brighter. Johnny ruffles his hair and takes another swig of beer. 

“So we’re really doing it, huh?” asks Jaehyun. “Seoul School of Performing Arts?”

“We’ll bribe whoever we need to bribe,” hiccups Johnny, “to give us a bigger room just for the three of us. And I’ll annoy the fuck out of the both of you, and play the piano until 3 a.m.”

Mark laughs. “We should get rid of him, right, Jae?”

Jaehyun hums in agreement. “Yeah. He’s too tall, he’ll always make us look bad with the ladies.” 

“Dude, no offense,” interjects Johnny, feeling exhilarated. He’s pretty sure his parents will never speak to him again for deciding to study music instead of law, like they wanted, but here on Jaehyun’s shitty car, drinking even shittier beer, he feels strangely powerful. “Have you seen yourself?” He points loosely at Jaehyun. “You could never look bad to any lady even if you tried.”

Mark barks a laughter. “He’s not wrong. To any guy, either,” he winks after that, and two years ago Johnny would have panicked at the words, and a year ago there would still have been some lingering discomfort. But Mark, for all his blushing and not so fake coyness, likes to flirt. He doesn’t really mean it (they’ve had that very uncomfortable conversation already), but the teasing comes natural to his playful nature. 

It makes Jaehyun laugh.

“Aw, you two know how to make a guy feel special,” he says, tongue between his teeth. 

“I wish.”

Jaehyun and Mark both turn to look at Johnny. The silence lasts a little too long before Johnny sighs and slaps a hand over his forehead. 

“We can’t just pretend like I didn’t say that, can we?”

“Nah,” quips Jaehyun. “Sorry, man, but I’ve been doing that for, like, the whole time I’ve known you. And I’m pretty tired.” 

“So,” says Johnny.

“So,” repeats Mark.

“I guess. Huh.” He clears his throat. “Some guys can be pretty cute, or whatever.”

“Wow, Johnny.” Marks looks at him for a second. “You really suck at this.”

“And to think he’s had years of repressed emotions to think about a good speech,” sighs Jaehyun, and Johnny hits him on the arm.

“Shut the fuck up, Jae.” He kind of wants to cry – he blames it on the alcohol. He kind of wants to laugh too – he blames it on his friends. “I don’t want… To put a label on it, you know?” He looks at Mark for help. “It is what it is. It’s not like I can help it.”

Mark looks at him dead serious. “Johnny, Seo Youngho, my dude.” He breathes in. “If you ever need blowjob tips, I’m your man.”

Jaehyun is on the floor in a fit of hysteric laughter, Johnny screeches and tries to cover his ears, and he guesses that’s that. He guesses he can stand out now. 

“Yah, Mark Lee.”

His best friend turns to look at him with a tipsy smile.

“Aw, I love you too, Johnny.”

“Not that, you idiot.” He laughs too, despite himself. “Just… I’m glad Jae and I were there. You know, that day with Kiwoo.”

Mark’s smile turns quieter. 

“I’m glad too,” he whispers. “Although,” he adds, “Jaehyun didn’t really do shit.”

“Hey! I was ready to fight for your honor!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Jung Jaehyun – “ 

  


* * *

  


Johnny moves into the dorm on his own. 

He isn’t bitter. Mark and Jaehyun are saying goodbye to their families, while his own goodbye was, _You’re making a mistake, Youngho_ , so he just left the house and hopped on the bus and promised himself this was gonna be a fresh start. 

And he’s a big guy, but perhaps he did overestimate himself a little bit, because an hour later he’s sweaty and panting and trying to haul his third suitcase up the stairs, fingers slippery on the handle. He sits down for a second to catch his breath, and hears a soft laughter. 

He realizes he’s blocking the way.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry – “ he fumbles with his words while he tries to grab his suitcase and move it out of the way, and just manages to lose his grip and send it down the stairs. The guy barely stops it before it hits him and knocks him out of his feet. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, and his voice is soft and a bit raspy, skin glass-smooth although a little sweaty in the late summer. The boy has hair dyed a ridiculously bright red, tied up in a little ponytail, eyes dark and extremely sharp. He balances the suitcase with one hand so it doesn’t fall again and Johnny can’t help but follow the movement, and maybe stare at his hands for a second too long. “Need help?” he asks. 

“What I need is a fucking smoke,” replies Johnny, a little too honestly.

So that’s how they find themselves lighting a cigarette in the parking lot, sitting on the sidewalk, Johnny’s suitcase forgotten on the bottom of the stairs.

“I moved in today too,” says the guy. “Nakamoto Yuta, first year in Music Production.”

Johnny shakes his hand, still a little stunned. Yuta is wearing a white shirt, half-unbuttoned, and he can faintly make out a colorful tattoo on his chest. Both of his ears are pierced with several silver dangly earrings. He’s almost too much to look at.

“Johnny Seo. I’m in Music Production too,” replies Johnny, only then noticing Yuta has a guitar slung over his shoulder. “You play?” he asks, then feeling a little stupid for asking, but Yuta doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, I’m in a band with my friend Ten. He plays better than I do,” he admits with a shrug, “but he doesn’t have my voice. Or my face,” he adds after a second, cocky.

Johnny laughs, breathless. 

“I play the piano,” he adds, a little unhelpfully. Then, out of the blue, he blurts out: “Fuck, I’m so happy to be here.”

He half-expects Yuta to laugh at him, but he only smiles softly. He looks kind, but dangerous at the same time, and it makes something in Johnny’s veins thrum.

“Let me guess. Conservative parents wanted you to be a doctor?”

“Lawyer.”

“Ugh.”

“Yours?”

“Not sure. They’re back in Osaka. They don’t really care,” he adds nonchalantly, taking a drag out of his cigarette and side-eyeing Johnny before putting it out under the tip of his boot. “I guess I should go. See you around, Johnny Seo.”

  


* * *

  


Johnny is twenty when he gets his heart broken for the first time. 

He and Sehun have been dating for the past seven months, but the last one has been nothing but fights, Sehun still refusing to be seen with him in public, still refusing to even tell about him to his closest friends (although, just by looking at them, Johnny can tell they all know. But Sehun is too scared, and blinded by that fear. Johnny would have been the same way, hadn’t it been for one Mark Lee.) 

“It was a long-way coming,” he says to Jaehyun, slamming a drawer shut a little too forcefully. “I couldn’t… I can’t live like that, Jae. Like I’m his dirty little secret.”

“Sehun is a dick. Drinks on me tonight?”

“Drowning my pain in alcohol?”

“Duh. We’re in college.”

Johnny looks at him for a second. Jaehyun is painfully straight, all thick biceps and varsity jackets and blinding smiles, but there hasn’t been a single time in his life when Johnny has felt judged by him – or Mark, for that matter, but that’s a different story. 

“Thanks, Jae. I mean it.”

Jaehyun seems to understand it’s for more than the drinks and he nods, giving him a silent pat on the shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, man. You’ve got me. And Mark, once the nerd decides to come back from the library.”

Johnny has to laugh at that, but it comes out sounding a little wet, and Jaehyun gives him a worried look.

“I’ll head out for a smoke.”

“Are you sure you don’t want – “ 

“I just need to be alone for a second.”

The street is dark – they still haven’t fixed the broken lamplight in front of the dorm – but Johnny can still spot the quick flicker of a lighter somewhere in the night. 

Yuta, faintly illuminated by the windows of the building behind him, turns to look at him. He grins a little lopsidedly.

“Hey, Seo. Do you have a lighter? Mine won’t go.” 

He shakes it a little more then pockets it, while Johnny sits down next to him and lights his own cigarette before handing Yuta his lighter. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, until Johnny finishes his cigarette and immediately lights another. Yuta lifts an eyebrow. 

“You okay there? You haven’t said a word.” 

“I came out here to be alone.” It sounds harsh, so he adds a quick: “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. What is it about?”

It’s strange. 

Johnny has known Yuta for over two years. They’re not really friends, but they navigate the same social circles, and Johnny has gone to see Yuta and his band – Neo Culture Technology – play a thousand times. Everyone on campus knows them. He even made small talk with Ten, the lead guitarist, a small guy with a sharp tongue and eyes made even darker by black liner. 

He’s been watching Yuta from afar since their first meeting, the day Johnny moved into the dorms. He’s watched him go through several hair colors (it’s silver now, which makes him look entirely too ethereal for Johnny to handle), a couple of boyfriends and dozens of too full gigs at college parties, guys and girls alike pining after the unreachable Nakamoto Yuta. They’re not friends, but Johnny is always all too aware of him. Yuta is extremely charismatic on stage – but it’s not just that. Off stage he’s friendlier, but there’s still an edge to him; Johnny has yet to figure out if it’s the kind that will cut you if you get too close. 

“Oh Sehun,” says Johnny eventually, and knows Yuta will understand, because it’s the worst kept secret on campus.

“Ah. Did you fight?”

“I broke up with him.”

Yuta doesn’t say he’s sorry, and Johnny is immensely grateful for it. He just furrows his brow, lights another cigarette for himself and asks: “Why?”

Johnny looks at him for a moment. His hair is swept back, cigarette hanging low between his lips, and he’s wearing his usual all black attire, earrings lining his ears and a bunch of chains attached to his belt buckles. One of his shoelaces is red, which almost makes Johnny smile, because that’s yet another Yuta quirk he noticed from the very beginning. 

“He’s a coward,” says Johnny and then, unexpectedly: “And I’m not.”

Yuta just nods. 

“I will never understand how people can live their whole lives in a lie,” he murmurs, looking straight into the night. Johnny is almost glad he isn’t looking at him, gaze too piercing. “Big fucking deal, some men like men. Some men are straight as an arrow but still like to wear frilly shirts and make-up like Ten. Not everyone is a fucking lawyer.”

It’s almost an inside joke, enough to make Johnny laugh. Only then he realizes he’s crying too – and fuck, he doesn’t cry in front of people, he shouldn’t – but Yuta still says nothing at that. 

“I’ll never be a fucking lawyer,” he repeats quietly, and Yuta honest to god giggles. 

“Hey, we’re playing a gig at a club downtown tonight. Do you and your friends wanna come? I’ll give your names to the bouncers.”

Johnny can never say no to Yuta.

The night is sharp in his mind despite all the shots Mark makes him down, and his eyes are fixed on the small stage where NCT is performing, Yuta screaming himself hoarse song after song, his eyes going heavy when he steps back from the mic and his fingers start to play with the chords of his electric guitar, the drums booming loud behind him. Johnny smiles when Yuta goes over to Ten and they engage in a battle of who can play the most outrageous guitar riff (Ten wins) and then Yuta goes back to the microphone and starts singing again and it’s beautiful and pained and completely out of this world. His skin is glowing under the club lights, more and more tattoos on his exposed skin after he rips his shirt open before the last song, eliciting screams and whistles – and by now Johnny has forgotten about drinking and he’s just _watching_. Yuta mixes Japanese with English seamlessly, and for a second his eyes find Johnny in the crowd, and Johnny can’t breathe from how heated they are, like Yuta could make the entire world go up in flames if he only wanted to. 

It’s a little unreal. 

They do become friends after that – sort of. Never too close, but close enough to find each other at parties, to hang out after class (Mark points out that Yuta is scary, but the hot kind of scary, and Johnny can’t even disagree) and most times they just meet at night, smoking in silence in front of the dorms. They never tell each other why they both can’t sleep. 

“I’m dropping out of college,” says Yuta one night. 

Johnny feels his stomach sink.

“Why?” he asks after a second. 

Yuta shrugs. “It’s holding me back. An agent has expressed some interest in NCT, and it could be a fluke, but if I don’t go after it – if I let _college_ hold me back, of all things – I know I’ll regret it forever.”

“I’ll miss you.” 

It’s blunt. Honest. Johnny knows Yuta appreciates it. 

“Yeah.” He takes a breath. “Wanna go to the beach?”

“Now?”

“You have a car, don’t you?” 

Johnny laughs, taken aback. “Your friend Sicheng has a car too.”

“Yeah, but it’s not him I’m asking to spend the night with.”

Johnny feels the air get punched out of his lungs. He doesn’t fully know what that means, but he does know his heart is pounding too fast, so much that he can hear it punching staccatos in his head, rattling his brain like when the music is so loud you can barely hear yourself think.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” adds Yuta, this time more quietly. “I understand if you don’t… I understand.” He pauses. “The offer we got, it’s in Tokyo.”

Of course it is. Most of Yuta’s songs are in Japanese and – it only makes sense. He’s going off to Japan probably forever and Johnny can’t take any more heartbreak, except this time it would be worse. Because it’s Yuta. It’s always been Yuta.

“Let’s go to the beach.” 

They drive for over two hours, and Johnny left his phone at the dorm so he can’t even text Jaehyun to tell him he’s not gonna come back for the night, but he doesn’t ask Yuta to borrow his. At some point Yuta switches on the radio, some host talking in the background. 

When Johnny stops the car Yuta gets out without a word and, once Johnny does too, he just stares at him for a while, standing still on the sand, his jacket forgotten on the carseat, shirt entirely too thin for the barely there spring weather. 

“I’ll miss you too,” says Yuta, still not looking at him. “The boys are coming with me, all of them. I told the agency it’s either all of us or none.” He smiles a little. “Ten is already teaching himself Japanese. I swear he’ll be better than me in give or take a month.”

“Do you think you’ll come back? Ever?”

Yuta turns and their eyes meet. 

“To Seoul?”

“No.”

He doesn’t need to say it. _To me._

“I – “ Yuta hesitates. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll play here, at the Olympic Stadium,” he adds, grinning, allowing himself to dream. “I’ll give you VIP tickets. Free backstage passes.”

Johnny laughs weakly. 

“Already acting like a diva?”

Yuta winks at him. “Always.”

They sit near the water, waves just shy of touching them, and Yuta takes off his shoes to sink his toes in the wet sand. He leans back, eyes to the moonlit sky, letting the wind play with his hair and sweep it away from his forehead.

“Hey, Johnny. Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“Don’t forget me. Even if… even if I don’t ever come back, and you never see me again. I’m not asking you to…” He hesitates. “I don’t expect anything. Just, think of me sometimes. Of that Japanese guy you used to know in college.”

“Of that one guy I used to be in love with.”

Yuta takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Yeah. I’ll think of him too.”

“Will you?”

“I’ll think of the boy who was trying to carry a suitcase almost bigger than himself. And also of the one who refused to let some coward push him back into the shadows. I’ll think of the guy who came to every single one of my gigs, even on nights when I was wasted and couldn’t sing for shit.” 

Yuta kisses him. He’s crying, Johnny can feel the wetness of tears on his face. He buries his fingers in Yuta’s hair, tugs a little at the strands, presses his own eyes shut so he won’t cry too. Yuta is leaving. He’s not leaving _him_ – but he’s still leaving.

“Do you promise too?” he breathes out, as Yuta presses him into the cold sand, slender body draped over his, shirt half off his shoulders. Johnny lets his fingers follow the path of the ink over Yuta’s chest and across his shoulder, all the way down to his thin wrists. 

“I won’t forget you, Johnny Seo.”

It’s unreal, like everything about Nakamoto Yuta has always been. His body is warm and his voice is laced with honey as he whispers into Johnny’s ears, impatient hands undressing each other, Johnny letting out a whimper as Yuta pushes into him, hair full of sand. 

“Don’t forget me, don’t forget me,” whispers Yuta, face pressed against his damp neck while he fucks him open, far more gentle than Johnny ever imagined. Johnny meets his every trust, movements languid and slow, trying to draw it out as long as they can. 

They lie naked on the sand for hours, shivering, arms wrapped around each other. 

The next morning, Yuta is gone. 

  


* * *

  


Johnny is twenty-one when he gets his heart broken again. 

It doesn’t feel at all like the first time. He can go on for days without thinking about him, attending classes, turning in assignments, and then suddenly he’s casually pressing piano keys in the evening and something heavy drops somewhere between his chest and his stomach, and Johnny can’t breathe anymore. 

He shuts himself in his room, sometimes, refusing to talk to a confused and equally concerned Jaehyun. Most times, however, he just leaves. He goes to sit outside on the sidewalk, he lights a cigarette and looks up, wondering if Yuta is looking up too, wondering what the night sky looks like for him.

Johnny graduates. NCT get a record deal.

Johnny moves in with Jaehyun and Mark. NCT come out with their first studio album.

Johnny finds a job at a record label. He doesn’t really know what Yuta and NCT are up to, by then. He hears their songs on the radio daily, and he ignores the signs when they play gigs in town – bigger and bigger, filling out clubs first and stadiums soon after. He never talks to his friends about what happened that night, nor he ever explains why he disappeared so suddenly only to turn up the next morning with puffy eyes and a sore throat. 

Johnny moves on, because he has no choice but. When his paycheck gets high enough, he moves out of their shared home and into his own apartment, and has the first non-awkward dinner with his parents since ages. His dad finally admits he was wrong. That maybe music _was_ the right choice, and his mum tells him she’s proud of him. It’s too little too late, but they’re growing older, and Johnny is growing kinder. He accepts the words with a smile. 

He works closely with Kim Doyoung, a young idol who just signed with their label, and starts making music for him. He has a beautiful voice and a personality to match, and Johnny loves listening to him when he records and brings Johnny’s music to life. They become friends too, to the point where Doyoung, despite his quickly growing popularity in the industry, refuses to work with anyone who isn’t Johnny. He’s a little too proud of that.

He dates, here and there. Right after landing a job he meets another intern, Lee Taeyong, and he finds it a bit disconcerting that someone that gorgeous and talented would want to be with him, but Johnny doesn’t question it. They don’t last long; the sex is good, but the communication isn’t there. Still, they manage to part amicably and they even go out for drinks a couple of times. Even after their breakup, spending time with Taeyong is still comfortable, and his producing skills are wickedly good, so they stay long hours at the studio, sipping on now warm iced Americanos. 

With Taeho it lasts longer, and gets messier. They meet at work, Taeho being from the marketing department of another label, and they skip the friendship stage to rush right into dating. Johnny is weak to beautiful men, and ignores Jaehyun’s warnings when his best friend tells him they’re moving too fast, Taeho moving into Johnny’s place barely a month into their relationship. Still, they’re happy for a while. There’s a brief moment when Johnny even dares to imagine a future with him. 

It’s sometime between late night and sunrise when Johnny wakes up from a nightmare he can’t remember. Taeho is sleeping next to him, breathing quietly, legs tangled with the bedsheets. 

Johnny goes out to the balcony to smoke. 

They’ve been together for almost a year now. He’s in love. They’ve both said it to each other, and Johnny _knows_ he’s in love, because this is what love is supposed to feel like when you’re twenty-eight and ready to settle down. Comfortable. Not quite happy, maybe, but content. 

He looks up at the sky. For a second, only for a second, he allows himself to recall a feeling – the roughness of the sand against his back, a mouth pressing delicate kisses to the column of his neck, sharp eyes watching his every movement. Fingers, interlaced. The silent gasp he let out when he was pressed harder into the sand, fucked rougher, quicker – more desperate. 

Johnny closes his eyes. 

Content. 

His relationship with Taeho lasts four more months. But Johnny had known it was doomed since that night on the balcony – because, once he allows himself to remember even a fragment of it, everything comes flooding back, and he’s not prepared. He doesn’t know how to shut it out. When they break up and Taeho asks him if there’s someone else, he can’t even reply, and just watches him storm out of the house for the last time. 

Johnny starts listening to the radio again. Sometimes he hears Yuta’s voice and Ten’s unmistakable guitar riffs. Sometimes he even recognizes the songs – lines he heard over eight years ago now encapsulated in a more sophisticated sound, Yuta’s voice more mature, the rasp even more prominent (it must be the smoking, or all the concerts he’s held over the years, but whatever it is it ties Johnny’s stomach in knots.) 

Then Doyoung’s manager calls him. 

Johnny is home, just got out of the shower, and he almost misses the call, wet strands of hair tickling his neck. 

When the call ends, he slowly places his phone back on the nightstand and considers calling in sick. Calling Doyoung’s manager back and telling him they can’t do this, he can’t do this, make up an excuse and it doesn’t matter if it will cost him money, because _he ca_ _n’t_. But NCT have requested Kim Doyoung to feature in one of their songs for the next album, and have given him free realm for his whole verse – almost. Yuta still composed the whole song, but he’s leaving Doyoung to write his own lyrics for his verse, which means Johnny has to do it. Which means there will be a meeting at the label or even at the recording studio and Johnny will _see him_. 

It’s been too long. Johnny can’t take it. But then again – it’s his job, and Doyoung is counting on him, bouncing excitedly at the opportunity to be featured in a song with one of the most famous Japanese rock bands in the world. It’s good publicity for both, and an opportunity for Doyoung to tap into the Japanese market. He wants to do it. 

So Johnny asks for someone to send the audio file to his studio so he can work on the lyrics for Doyoung’s verse. He feels like throwing up when he presses play and first hears Yuta’s voice, softer than what he’s used to, less polished too, because it’s still just a demo. He tries to be professional about it, taking note that NCT seems to be going towards a more pop rock direction for this album, which will probably piss off their older fans but bring in a lot of new ones. There’s more English than usual, less Japanese – a risky move, but also a smart one. Yuta’s falsetto before the chorus makes his throat close up. 

_I am who I am, no matter what. Never changing, no matter what._

Johnny wonders if that’s how Yuta really feels. He lets the track play a couple of times, trying to focus on the empty thirty seconds of instrumental waiting for Doyoung’s voice – for Johnny’s words. 

He makes a few calls, and within a couple of hours he has a dozen of demos sitting in his computer.

“I just wanna get a feel of the whole album,” he says. 

He wants Doyoung’s part to fit in well with NCT’s sound. He also wants to – needs to – hear more of Yuta’s voice, not the polished version he hears on radio, but this raw, imperfect Yuta, his voice not always hitting the notes flawlessly, so loud in Johnny’s headphones he can almost feel him beside him.

_Let’s live like we’re immortal, baby just for tonight._

Johnny swallows. He can nearly feel the burn of the sand on his skin.

_We’ll think about tomorrow when the sun comes up._

He slams his computer shut.

_Don’t be afraid to dive, be afraid that you didn’t try._

He needs to breathe. He also needs to work. 

Johnny spends two days in his studio, sleeps on the tiny couch and wakes up with a crick in his neck, but by the end of it he has Doyoung’s verse – and everyone is pleased with it. Well, almost everyone. Johnny shouldn’t be surprised when he hears Nakamoto Yuta will come to the label to meet Doyoung and do the recording, adding some adlibs to Doyoung’s verse and overall making sure it fits with the rest of the song. Johnny tells himself Yuta has no way to know he is Doyoung’s lyricist – or does he? Yuta was never one to do research, but that was college, and now it’s been seven years and he’s about to meet someone he used to know but doesn’t anymore.

The morning before the meeting, he dials Jaehyun’s number. Then he calls Mark.

“Hey man,” he hears a yawn, Mark’s whispered voice, “Wait a sec, Donghyuck is still sleeping, let me…” Some rustling, soft footsteps. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to throw up,” says Johnny matter of factly, standing in a crisp white shirt and just his boxers in the middle of the bedroom, briefly catching his reflection in the mirror.

“What? Are you okay?”

“Yuta is coming to the label today.”

Mark is quiet for a while. After Yuta left, the mere fact that Johnny refused to even say his name spoke volumes, but he never really told Mark or Jaehyun why he was so hell-bent on pretending like Nakamoto Yuta never existed. His friends didn’t push. And while he’s pretty sure Jaehyun knows, he’s _completely_ sure Mark does. 

“Do you want me to come by? I visit you at work all the time, it wouldn’t be weird.” 

“No, I don’t…” Johnny prays Mark is gracious enough to ignore the fact that he’s already getting choked up. “I hope he likes my lyrics,” he finishes quietly.

“Hey, Johnny? Don’t…” Mark takes a breath. “I know you regret a lot of things about whatever happened last time. Just, make sure you don’t regret anything after he leaves today, okay?”

“It’s been seven years,” he says weakly.

“Yeah,” replies Mark. “But you haven’t forgotten about him, have you?”

It’s the best and worst possible choice of words. Johnny hangs up without warning.

_Don’t forget me._

He gets to the recording studio way too early, already on his second coffee, and when Doyoung arrives the idol gives him a strange look. He’s nervous too, judging by the way he keeps adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“You okay?” asks Johnny. Trust his fucking voice to shake even asking a simple question.

“You?”

They both laugh a little bit. 

“It’s a big deal,” says Doyoung, and Johnny watches him sip on his own coffee. “This could be huge for me. Plus, I’ve been listening to NCT since I was in college, so it’s like… It’s strange.” 

He chuckles again at that, blushing a little, and Johnny knows he’s excited to meet Yuta. 

“Do I have to be here?” he blurts out. “You don’t need me for the recording – “ 

He can’t even finish his sentence before the door swings open. Yuta’s manager is a woman in her early thirties, and Johnny silently watches as she introduces herself to everyone as Minatozaki Mina, her handshake firm, eyes clever and smile perfectly practiced. And of course. There’s Yuta.

Johnny has tried to avoid any pictures of him on social media or newspaper articles, so he’s not fully prepared for this Yuta, shoulders far broader than before, still the same fashion sense stuck somewhere between late 90’s and early 2000’s punk, hair now pitch black and longer, almost reaching his shoulders. He’s not wearing any make-up, and somehow that makes the angles of his face all the more striking, jawline painfully sharp, the slope of his nose elegant and his skin pale, eyes a little tired. He looks like he still doesn’t get much sleep. There’s something different in his eyes. The edge is still there, and so is the fire, but there’s also something else – a bit softer. Not tamed. But – almost gentle. 

He shakes Johnny’s hand professionally, but as Johnny is about to introduce himself, still avoiding eye contact, Yuta says: “It’s good to see you again, Johnny Seo.” 

_Fuck_. Doyoung’s surprised eyes are on him and – fuck. The way Yuta said his name. His Korean is somehow more accented than before, probably due to spending the last few years in Tokyo, but he’s still fluent when he asks Doyoung to step into the recording booth with him, and soon there’s a glass between Johnny and Yuta. 

He knows he would never be prepared to hear Yuta sing again, and he isn’t. He sinks into a chair, eyes trained on the Japanese singer when Doyoung sings his part – and it’s always a little magical, how Doyoung turns a string of words into something breath-taking just with his voice.

“No, it wasn’t easy,” Doyoung starts singing, his voice melting flawlessly with the melody, the sweetness of it a stark and beautiful contrast to Yuta’s lower and dirtier tone, “But every day I took one step closer to change. They didn’t wanna see me break these chains,” his eyes are half-closed in concentration, and suddenly Yuta turns his head quickly. Now he’s staring straight at Johnny. “Being more than just a name and a face.” Doyoung takes a breath, lets the instrumental play for a few seconds, lets Yuta hum the melody as he still stares at Johnny through the glass. “I’m not afraid to love, I’m not afraid to try, I’m not afraid to fly – “ a pause – “ with my head high.”

After he finishes his verse, he steps back from the mic and looks first at Yuta then at Johnny, and only then Johnny remembers he’s the producer, he’s the one who’s supposed to be giving feedback.

“Was that okay?”

“It was great, Doyoungie,” manages Johnny. “Let’s do it a couple more times just to be sure.”

  


* * *

  


“Your lyrics are still beautiful.” A beat of silence. “Even more so than they used to be.”

Johnny turns to look at him, and it’s physically painful.

“Yuta. It’s lunch break, you should be…” He clears his throat. “Doyoung is a perfectionist, so I have a feeling we’ll be in the studio until tonight.”

“I’m not that hungry. Can I have some of that coffee?”

Johnny just hands him the cup and watches him light a cigarette.

“You still haven’t quit?” he asks, before he can stop himself. 

Yuta smiles a bit, and only then Johnny realizes he has his tongue pierced. His brain short-circuits for a second.

“Have you?”

Johnny laughs. “Guilty as charged.”

Yuta hands him back the coffee with a thanks, still watching him carefully.

“They told me you requested the demos for the whole album.”

“Yeah, I wanted to get a feel of it before writing Doyoung’s part.”

“Mmh. Do you have a favorite?”

Johnny almost smiles, feeling a little breathless for no apparent reason.

“I don’t know. _Unforgettable_ , maybe?”

Yuta grins at that. Johnny doesn’t expect it and almost spills what’s left of his coffee when next, softly, Yuta sings: “I don’t need much, I just want it all. All I wanna be is unforgettable.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “That one. It’s beautiful.”

“What is?”

_The song._

_You._

“Your voice.”

It’s a middle ground.

“So do you have it all, like you wanted?” asks Johnny after a moment.

“Almost. I didn’t expect… You go from being the weird punk kid to singing in front of millions. It’s still hard to wrap my head around.” Yuta sighs. “But I have so much more than I thought I would ever get.”

“It’s good,” says Johnny quietly. “I’m happy for you, Yuta.”

Yuta gives him a long look. “And you, Johnny? What do you have?”

“A lot,” he admits. “Not all,” he adds after a second, almost inaudible. Yuta hears him anyway.

“I’m staying in Seoul for a couple of days.”

Johnny can feel his heart shatter at that.

“And then you’ll be gone,” he remarks, voice laced with poison. “Don’t, Yuta. Not again.” 

Yuta jumps just a tiny bit at the aggression in his tone.

“Did you keep your promise?”

“What do you think?” replies Johnny, and he can feel the anger, all the pain he’s kept bottled up for years. He can’t look at Yuta right now.

“I kept mine too, you know?”

“You left.”

“You knew I would leave.”

“You didn’t come back.”

“I never said I would. And you didn’t come to me, either.” He pauses. “I’ve been looking at apartments here in Seoul. We’re planning more collabs with Korean artists, a joint tour with The Rose, maybe. We’ll go on hiatus for a while, after the tour. It’s just Asia this time. A couple of months at most.”

“Why not a world tour?”

“We could’ve done it,” admits Yuta. “But Ten’s girlfriend is pregnant, and he wants to be there when the baby comes. Besides, I was already planning to…” He hesitates. “I wanted to come back. But I didn’t know… It’s been years. I didn’t know.” 

Johnny is finding it hard to breathe. It’s too much, and too fast.

“What do you mean?”

“I already told you, Johnny.” _Stop saying my name like that, god, please, just stop –_ “I kept my promise. But I understand if you… As I said, it’s been years.”

“Fuck, Yuta. _Fuck_. How can you – “ 

“I still love you.”

And it’s there. It’s Yuta, who hasn’t stopped speaking his mind despite his best judgement, who would rather not speak at all than lie, who’s looking at Johnny like he just handed him his own heart and soul – and he did, he fucking did, but all the pain, fuck, what does Johnny do with that?

“How can you say that?” he croaks out. 

“It’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t…” Johnny doesn’t know what to say. He grabs Yuta’s face and he kisses him, and suddenly it’s like it all makes sense, because what he used to think about how love is supposed to feel? He’s not content. Yuta is the opposite of safe and easy. Johnny feels on fire just by touching him, and he melts against his body when Yuta tentatively sweeps his tongue over his lower lip, then pushes it into his mouth. Johnny is a fucking grown man. He shouldn’t be moaning at a kiss alone, but that doesn’t stop him. 

“Do you?” asks Yuta against his lips. 

_Do you still love me?_

It doesn’t make sense – it shouldn’t. It’s been so long and they don’t even know each other anymore, Johnny doesn’t know what kind of guitar Yuta plays now, what his place looks like, if his parents ever came back to their senses. He doesn’t know if he’s ever fallen in love, and what it was like falling out of it if he did, he doesn’t know the patterns of the ink on his skin anymore – but he can make it out, because Yuta’s shirt is outrageously see-through and he can see there’s barely any space left on his body, stories imprinted on his skin. He can’t help but wonder how far the tattoos go, if they snake down his legs or wrap around his hips. 

“Don’t go, Yuta,” he whispers, foreheads touching. Johnny traces his cheekbones with a finger, then the light stubble dusting his jaw, the sinful arc of his lips. “Promise that to me.”

“You know I always keep my promises,” their breaths mingle, and they stop talking for a second to kiss, a quick press of lips that doesn’t last nearly long enough. “Will you have me, Johnny? And I’m not asking just for tonight, or the next week, or until I have to go back to Tokyo.” 

“I kept my promise too.” He takes a breath. “I didn’t really have a choice, because even if I wanted to… You really got what you wanted, Nakamoto Yuta. _Unforgettable_.”

He says it in Japanese, like Yuta did in his song. His heart breaks and comes whole again a million times as he watches Yuta smile at him. 

“Lunch break over!” calls a voice from inside.

Johnny makes to step away, not wanting anyone to ask questions, but Yuta holds him firmly by the wrist.

“I’m here, Johnny Seo,” he says, and it’s like he can read every single one of his thoughts just by looking at him, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“I’m here too.”

It’s a whisper, soft, barely escapes his lips. The way Yuta growls _mine_ into the kiss is anything but soft, and Johnny is breathless a mere seconds into it, desperately grabbing at Yuta’s belt to press their hips together, small whimpers escaping his lips when Yuta slips a hand into his back pocket and _squeezes_.

“Fuck – “ Johnny darts a look at the door, still closed. “We’re still at _work_ – “

Yuta laughs a little, steps back. 

“I can wait,” he says, and his eyes are twinkling. 

They spend the night together at Johnny’s apartment, and it’s a surreal experience relearning all the patterns of Yuta’s body and tracing over the old ones, recognizing the way his voice sounds when Johnny has his mouth on him, watching him fall asleep slowly, eyelids heavy. 

The next morning, Yuta is still there. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a rollercoaster!!! 
> 
> Rockstar!Yuta is honestly a gift upon us all and I need more content so please @other fanfic writers, make it happen. 
> 
> Also both mine and Yuta's favorite band is One Ok Rock, so I basically turned him into Taka and used OOR lyrics for the whole thing. I'm not even sorry? I took a few liberties and mixed together lyrics from different songs, but I kept it within their last album so it would be more cohesive. The songs mentioned in the story are: Stand Out Fit In, Wasted Nights, Head High and Unforgettable. This whole story was actually inspired by Stand Out Fit In, which will make a lot of sense once you listen to it (it basically follows Johnny's arc), however I had Nothing Helps by OOR and Chlorine by twenty one pilots on repeat while writing this, if you wanna understand the mood of the story even further. 
> 
> JohnYu is THE ship and I will carry our whole nation by myself if I have to.  
> (Although I'm outlining an awful lot of MarkYu stories too. Truth is, Yuta is a hoe and too damn shippable with everybody ;_;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, some parts of it were quite personal for me and it did drain me a bit to write them because I was so personally invested, but it was also something I wanted to put out there.  
> Let me know!
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks make me feel like I've just won the lottery, so feel more than free to leave them :D I also want to thank everyone who's been reading and commenting my work, you guys have no idea how much it means to me. 
> 
> As always, English is not my first language, so I apologise for any possible errors. If you want to reach me elsewhere, you can find me on tumblr @mabushii--hikari
> 
> Until next time!


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